Brotherhood
by Becka73
Summary: A look at Sam and Dean's relationship through the years. Series based on quotes regarding the sacred bonds of Brotherhood.
1. Chapter 1

Brotherhood

Prologue -

We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker. Bonaro Overstreet

In the beginning, there was fire and screams and finally tears and silence. And deep beneath those fragile yet nurturing layers of silence was born a most wonderful and fascinating alliance. An alliance of needs and wants and hopes and realities. This alliance came to be in baby steps, through half-warmed bottles, backward diapers, and coos and gurgles that made the older one giggle and roll his eyes when all he should have been expected to do was cry. Even when tiny and defenseless, the younger one was already helping to define their relationship for years to come. He who evoked laughter and smiles and he who sheltered the other from all the shadows of their world. And so it continued that young Dean and even younger Sammy began molding and shaping each other's futures.

Scene One -

Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero. Marc Brown

Another day at school, another day in Hell. That was what things boiled down to for nine year old Dean as he reflected upon the past few hours. Having just stepped off the school bus, he and Sam were making way down the cracked sidewalk that led to their current 'home'. A white with slate blue trim, two bedroom/one bath fixer-upper that their Dad was purposely refusing to fix up. "Why bother," he'd said when Sam had asked if they were going to patch the fist-sized hole in the drywall of the kitchen. "It's not like we're going to be here for the long-haul anyway." Such was their lives.

They had been in Jones, Virginia for the past four weeks, and since Dad had found temporary work at the local garage, he saw school as a convenient, and free, daycare service. It just had the added bonus of being able to stuff more knowledge into Dean and Sam's brains in the process. And although the job was temporary, as were their residency, it also offered the occasional overtime hours when business was brisk.

As the boys came marching in from school, they were briefly surprised to see their Dad already home and cooking up hotdogs and macaroni and cheese. He was still in his work jumpsuit, complete with assorted stains and smudges, a sure indication that his appearance was just a temporary stop between shifts. He looked up from his meager attempt at cooking and nodded to the boys as they came in.

After having deposited his worn red and white backpack in his and Dean's bedroom, Sam came bursting back into the kitchen, his round little face graced with an ear to ear grin. "Guess what, Daddy!" he chirped as he stood looking up into his Dad resigned face. "Today's Halloween, and we's gots to go out chip or treating. All the kids said so, so we's gots to. Where are mine and Dean's costumes? I'm gonna be a Ninja Turtle, just like Jacob. He's in my class, Daddy, and he's..."

"Sammy, there's not going to be any costumes for you or Dean. And you know that you boys can't be going out at night, especially on Halloween. How many times have I told you not to listen to what those other kids are saying? You know they aren't like us..." Dad stated, in that no-nonsense tone the boys knew so well. He didn't seem to notice the look of pure devastation that took over his youngest son's previously happy expression. Nor did he notice the way Dean was trying to avoid looking at his father and brother as the exchange continued.

"But Daddy," Sam cried, "we have to go! It's what all kids do. Even the teacher said." And having schooled his boyish features in his best attempt at seriousness, he continued, "It's OK if I'm not a Ninja Turtle, but we's gots to do it. Dean and Me."

Sighing in both frustration at his youngest son's inability to understand the true nature of their nomadic and unorthodox existence and in regret at having to deny his sons yet another childhood rite of passage, Dad began, "Sammy, I said no, and ..."

Before he could even finish speaking, Sam looked down at the floor, then walked quietly across the kitchen to take a seat at the table in front of his battered Sesame Street plate. He refused to look at his Dad or Dean, and began biting his lower lip, a nervous habit he had recently acquired . "It's OK, Daddy," he softly murmured, "can we eat our doggies and 'roni and cheese now?" The quite declaration being Sam's way of trying to avoid a confrontation. He had learned in his short life that you just didn't argue with Dad. It never turned out anything but badly.

"Sure, Sammy," Dad replied, already beginning to dish out their food. "Dean, why don't you pour some juice for you and your brother?"

Dean glanced between his brother's slumped form and his Dad, before moving to the refrigerator. After making the drinks and placing one by Sammy's plate and one by his own, the older boy took a seat at the table and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he asked, "Are you going back to work tonight, Dad?"

"Sure am. I've been lucky, lots of work coming in and just not enough regular hours to finish it all. I'll make enough extra to get us back on the road in a week or two," Dad acknowledged, as he quickly cleaned his own plate and moved to place it in the sink. "I've gotta go in a few minutes. Dean, I want you to look out for Sammy. Make sure he gets a bath and gets to bed on time. And no going out after I'm gone. I don't want that nosy Mrs. Mitchell next door making trouble about me leaving you guys alone when I'm working."

"No problem, Dad. Sam and I'll just watch some cartoons and stuff," Dean replied. Sneaking a quick look to his left, he saw that his brother had finished off about half of his dinner, and was now slowly pushing the remainder around in circles on his plate. The younger boy had not spoken during the meal, nor made eye contact with himself or Dad. 'Poor Sammy, just doesn't understand. I wish those dumb teachers would just teach the book stuff and shut up about things like Halloween and candy and costumes,' he thought to himself as he watched his brother.

After having seen Dad off, scraped their plates, and washed up the dishes, the boys moved to the living room to watch cartoons on their old black and white portable TV, which was currently resting atop an old, plastic crate. Sam sat curled into the corner of the faded, evergreen sofa, his head resting on the overstuffed arm and his face the picture of dejection. As Superman and Wonder Woman raced across the screen in their pursuit of justice, the youngest Winchester barely acknowledged their existence.

Feeling slightly depressed and highly irritated that his baby brother was once again being denied one of life's 'normal' activities and their Dad seemed totally oblivious to how upset Sam was, Dean spent the next few moments racking his brains for some way to make Sam smile again. Thinking back to Sam's earlier excitement at the idea of 'chip or treating' he had an idea. He went back into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with an empty Folger's coffee can and an equally empty plastic butter dish. He also clutched a role of masking tape and some tinfoil in his arms. In the pocket of his faded jean, he had three rolls of SweetTarts, left over from the convenience store stop they had made weeks back on their way into town.

"Hey Sammy, wanna help me with something?" he called to his brother. "We've gotta hurry if we want to be able to go candy hunting. You know you have to have it all done before ten o'clock, or your doing it all wrong."

Looking up from his perch on the sofa, Sam turned a confused face to his older brother. "Candy hunting? Dad said 'No' Dean, and he meant it. You don't want a spanking do ya?" he asked, voice subdued, yet oddly firm for a five year old.

"Dad said 'No going out' Sammy, not that we couldn't candy hunt right here in the house. We won't be able to have any fancy costumes, like Jacob, but we can still do it. Look, I've got all the stuff we'll need to make our buckets. Then we'll take turns hiding the SweetTarts all over. Come on, Sammy! It'll be fun. I promise."

Looking a bit uncertain, but knowing that if Dean made a promise, it was always good, Sam bounced off the sofa and sat on the floor next to his brother. Taking the pieces of foil and tape offered to him, he couldn't keep a smile from once again appearing. "OK, I guess if you say so. Can I have the butter dish? I can color with my markers on that one. I can make me some Ninja Turtles even. I bet Jacob doesn't have his own Turtle Bucket, does he?" Sammy joked as he went to work.

"No, I bet he don't," Dean replied, quite satisfied with his plan's success. 'And I bet he doesn't have his very own Sammy, either. Who needs a fancy costume when you've got a little brother anyway?'


	2. Chapter 2

Brotherhood  
Scene Two -

3. Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring - quite often the hard way. Pamela Dugdale

Author's note - Time frame is Winter 1991. Dean is 12 and Sam is 8.

Interesting thing about motel rooms, no matter one's reason for seeking out the accommodations, they just never seemed to instill any true measure of comfort in their occupants. That being said, it came as no surprise to the brothers Winchester that their current respite from the seemingly endless miles of highway their father was constantly covering in his quest for answers appeared to have been decorated by a color-blind interior design reject. It featured a lush carpet of olive green peppered by the occasional bare patches around the doorways. And to offset this stunning feature, they were also treated to a lovely view of peeling, water-stained wallpaper. Or at least one could hope it was just water.

Currently the ungodly hour of 6 AM (and it sure seemed a lot earlier considering none of the Winchester men had slept very well, each plagued by the groans and creaks that echoed from the bathroom's water pipes all night long) found Dean and Sam stumbling around the room attempting to pack up all of their somewhat meager belongings while their father was down at the motel office arranging their checkout. While Sam scooped out the bathroom for any forgotten items, such as complimentary soaps and shampoos, Dean was lying across one of the two rumpled beds in an attempt to retrieve one of his sneakers that had been flung just a little too far during the wrestling match he and Sam had before bed the night before. As he tried to reach the renegade footwear, he couldn't help but think, 'Man, with dust bunnies the size of Godzilla, it's a wonder we weren't all smothered in our sleep.' Not all things dangerous must emerge from the depths of Hell, after all. Minutes later the two boys were outside their room, gear in hand, quietly awaiting their father's return.

"OK, boys, lets get going," John Winchester called as he approached. The three made their way out to the parking lot and stowed their backpacks and bags in the trunk. As was their routine, Dean headed up to get in the passenger seat, while Sam moved towards the backseat. At the last moment, however, Sam asked in an eager tone that never boded well for those not quite awake enough to deal with an overly inquisitive eight year old, "Hey Dean, can I sit up front with Dad? I'm tired of always sitting in the back."

Taking a quick look over at their father, and noting the older man's scowl and the dark circles underneath his eyes that were sure signs of a less than perky attitude, Dean replied, "Not today, Sammy. Maybe later." By keeping his comments short, and trying to sound firm, the older boy hoped to quell Sam's inkling for a change of scenery and get on with the day. Unfortunately, as was becoming more evident to the boy as time went by, it seemed like Dean Winchester could never catch a break where his little brother was concerned.  
"That's not fair! What makes it's the rule that you always sit by Dad?" the younger boy whined, his lower lip jutting out in a classic pout. "Dad! Dean's being a brat!"

Turning around in his seat behind the steering wheel, their Dad looked from Sam, with his pout and his flushed cheeks, to Dean, who was glaring at his brother for all he was worth. Not willing to play referee, he ordered, "Dean, in the back. Sam, get your butt up hear and belt up. Times a'wasting." His quiet, yet firm voice made it clear that no further argument would be tolerated.

As Sam made to pass Dean for the front seat, his brother grabbed his arm and hissed into his ear, "Sam, let it go. Dad's grouchy, won't be no fun up there anyway..." trying his best to deter Sam's desire to ride shotgun. In response, Sam fired back, "Your just mad that you have to be all bored back their instead of me." One day Sam was going to learn to listen to his older, wiser big brother. However, today, was not to be that day. Sighing in defeat, Dean slid across the cold leather bench seat behind Sam, and prepared to await the inevitable. And in a telling show of immaturity, Sam had the nerve to look back at Dean over the seat and stick his tongue out. 'You'll be sorry Sam,' Dean thought to himself, with just a smidgen of satisfaction. 'Just you wait...'

About forty-five minutes into their current road trip, the trio had made a quick visit to the drive-thru of a fast food restaurant, and all the smaller boy had left to show for it was a three-quarters full cup of Orange soda. As growing boys tend to do, he and Dean had scarfed down their biscuits and grease-laden hashbrowns in no time at all. And now Sam was well and truly bored. Dad wasn't exactly in the most conversational mood, and Dean, still brooding over Sam's previous disregard, refused entertain the younger boy with stories or travel games.

As row after row of barren trees fly by, Sam, as bratty young boys tend to do, begins to fidget. After a few minutes of shifting restlessly and swapping the soda cup from one hand to another he earns a stern look of warning from Dad, and in an attempt to quickly re-settle himself, his right knee hits the latch to the glove box, which promptly pops open, startling Dad as it's contents fall to the floorboard. In reaction, Dad's hand jerks the wheel, and the plastic lid on Sam's cup pops off as he tightens his grip. A geyser of bright orange liquid covers Sam, and the entire right side of the front seat area. Judging by the sudden red hue Dad's face has acquired, and the way he is audibly grinding his teeth, he is far from amused. Suddenly wishing he had stayed in the back like always, Sam moves to press tightly against the door panel, as far away from Dad as possible. In the backseat, Dan just shakes his head and tries really hard to stay mad at his little brother so he can avoid feeling sorry for the big baby as he awaits Dad's wrath.

At the next rest stop, they pull over, and Sam and Dean stand quietly beside the car as Dad mutters expletives under his breath while attempting to sop up sticky orange liquid with flimsy restroom paper towels. After he feels he has done all for the time being to clean up the mess, but before everyone climbs back into the car, he says to Sam, "When we get to the motel this afternoon, while Dean and I are researching and preparing, you will be out in this car cleaning up every last drop of this mess. And I mean every drop. Do you understand me Samuel?" So filled with guilt over making the mess in the first place, and now upset by the prospect of missing out on working with his Dad and brother, the younger boy simply nods his head in understanding, while whispering a quick "Yes, sir."

Later that afternoon, once they arrive at their destination, Dad barks out orders to Sam that include the borrowing of a bucket, and using soap and water and a sponge to clean up all the soda. The boy looks steadily at the ground as he receives his punishment, not wanting to make eye contact with either his Dad or his brother. Just as Dad prepares to move away from the car, he adds "And while you're at it, just to remind you of the importance of being careful, you get to clean the entire car, inside and out, by yourself. Maybe that will help you work off some of that extra energy, Sammy." Sam's head snaps up at this last part. Usually half the job of cleaning the car belongs to Dean. He almost opens his mouth to protest, but on further thought he decides to leave well enough alone and remains silent. As Dad proceeds to the motel office to arrange for their room, Sam follows a few feet behind him, so that he can ask the clerk if he can borrow the required items for his clean up detail. Dean stays back with the car, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

An hour later, Dean looks up from his reading to watch as Sam toils away, trying to scrub every last trace of the soda from the floorboard of the car. The younger boy's face is streaked with dirt, and he stops occasionally to rub at fingers cramped from gripping the large pink sponge the clerk had loaned him for his task. Sam, though young, is already a perfectionist, so he is taking his time, making sure there will be nothing for Dad to find wrong when he inspects his work.

As Dean continues to look out the window at his brother, he notices that it has begun to drizzle rain. Knowing that the rain will be freezing cold, the older boy begins to feel sorry for his brother. After a couple of minutes, spent trying to convince himself that Sam deserves what he gets, he casually tells Dad that he is going out to check up on Sam's progress. Deeply engrossed in his own research, Dad simply nods his approval.

"Hey Sammy, you about done?" Dean asks, leaning against the outside of the car and peering inside to where his little brother continues to scrub at the now spotless carpet. Casting a quick look across the interior of the car, he notes that it is clutter-free and smells pleasantly of some floral-scented cleanser.

"I.. I'm not sure," Sam replies, using his forearm to wipe at the beads of sweat gathering on his scrunched forehead. "I think I might need to redo the middle of the floorboards."

Noting the tired look on Sammy's face and the additional dark clouds rolling in overhead, he gently takes hold of Sam's arm and draws him from the car. "I think it's good enough, Sammy. And in case you didn't notice, its raining. The last thing Dad needs is for you to catch another cold and be sneezing all over his nice, clean car." The last part said with a laugh as images of Sam spraying cold germs all over his freshly scrubbed dashboard ran through his head. "C'mon, let me help you carry all this stuff back to the office. I'll even stop at the machine and get you a Coke and some M&Ms."

Looking at his big brother with a look of both relief and apprehension, Sam responds "If your sure its OK..."

"Yes, Sammy, I'm sure. Now get a move on!" he orders. "I'm getting all wet here!"

Handing Dean a few of the cleaning supplies, the youngest Winchester says, with a sheepish grin, "Thanks for helping, Dean. You didn't have to."

"Oh Sammy. It's OK," Dean assures, as he slings a protective arm around Sam's slender shoulder. "Just one thing though..."

Not sure what Dean could have forgotten, Sam looks at him expectantly as he asks, "What?"

"I told ya so!" Sometimes being the older, wiser one rocked!


End file.
